Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Had the Kaiser been more durable -- you know, been a Kaiser Permanente -- maybe we'd've missed out on his disturbed successor, Ice Adolph. (His rapper name.) "Pom Pom / Pogrom / Grommet / Gram Gram" goes an original line from Ice Adolph Live at the Bööger Haus. What's the difference? Stocks are up. And by that, I mean there is more essence of animal or essence of vegetable a-percolating on the stovetop than every before. Invest in Wall St. if you prefer; I'll sink my meager gleanings into 60 Month juice of boilings, thank you kindly. The U.S. Government, on the other hand, is so much indebted to various kinds of various types that it must drop one or more letters from GDP, leaving us at P, basically, Pee, Pisswater. A roar of the pectoralis / A snore of the digitalis / A boer of the limpid phallus / Areola Borealis. The Nipple Display, that is, in the Northern Sky. The Nipple Lights of the North. Let me get something absolutely correct: Was there really an Emperor Jones or did the Ruler just have a yen for giving a little dictation? Currency is to Jones, one must conclude, as Yen is to Yen, so watch out, especially, for a tip to the lid on the bonce. "Kaiser", afterall, sounds like something one might inflict upon a Citrus, and our man's battle topper could double as a Field Juicer when the lines inevitably stall, scurvy, curvy, pervy.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Liquor the lips and thy secret shall be known. The trick would seem to be -- liquor the rest of the body, instead. Imagine that -- a cold heart and some warm hands. Taken on face value, there is little difference, afterall, between a Metrobus and a Succubus. A deeper examination reveals that one never comes on time, while the other only comes at night. Whereas the Porcubus is leaving, right now, for the Congressional District, HA-HOOGA. Listen to Charles Mingus and fly Aer Lingus Lingus Lingus Lingus Lingus, and, dern it, don your Porcupine Hat, gnat. "Talk about the greats" someone always wants to talk about the "greats" as if it's a condition. Comin' down from the grates, "Jimmy's in there, comin' down from the grates," and he is, in there, in the closet, sleeping on his feet. Eights, of course, are one rotation away from infinity. Or, if you've got a particular kind of eight, then, infinicky. O, Bored Walk of my Water Front, O, Boardwalk of my Moist Facade, HA-HOOGA. A furlough, Jack, is an economic readjustment, not the foxpiece worn round the ankles, and a furlong is a horse-race discrepancy. Rankle, ankle, angle, wrangle. Don't know 'bout you, but I need a nip just for everyday tongue-twisters, and other twisters, I need to reach out and touch liquor, since its spirits are distal, still, a distillation, dot, dot, dot, in the Northern Sky.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Believe me when I say that, originally, you weren't supposed to scream "Yahtzee!" when you triumphed at dice games but "Nazi!" instead -- perhaps when you achieved a snake-eyes kind of Fascism, throwing the venom of your palm into the air. And that, at first, you could opt for a Fascism at the Day Spa, you know, seeking to smoothe-over the defects in your maniacal allegiance, until you had to flat-out request a Facial, instead. If you try to debunk your Uncle, you'll get a Debuncle, if you try to carburate your Uncle, you'll get a Carbuncle, and if you try to monopolize your Uncle's attention, you'll get a Monocle. Skin blemishes over swaths of time could lead to Epoch Marks. But I digress. These days, with respect to our information economy, Megalomania just ain't enough Mania, you need something like Gigalomania, to get just enough Mania. Yeah, yeah, yeah: Cleveland and rivers: yeah, yeah, yeah. You can await the river all you like when you should probably abate the river, you know, get a crew, and a foreman, and have them sit around the tailgate by belching grease and ogling the Convenience Mart. 'Talegate' as in a scandal that accompanied a Yarn or 'Tailgate' as in a scandal that accompanied de Lay o' de Land? You take risk, tsk tsk, you take risk. One minute you're checking into a Bed & Breakfast, the next minute you're checking out: Period. As in Bled & Wake-fest. Optimize now, and we'll throw in four Gigs of Mania at no extra charge! Optimize now, and one of our customer service operatives will -- personally -- clap you on the Carbuncle! Bundle, Buncle, Whoa Back, Buckle.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

The Lunar Cycle may cause Tsunami & Catastrophic Origami but it is Barbed Wire that brings out the Cheeky Grimace of the Moon. Speaking of which, Barbed Wire is some hateful fence. In that, it scalps some serious Hurt. And the Chafe begat Chaff, sayeth The Verse. And the Chaff begat Dust, a Harvest, a Sustenance, a Bowl. The Great Depression was a Seer, as well, a Prophet who'd been established in a tent, upon a throne, despite profound irritability, incurable remorse, and a large "D" embroidered on his chest, in 48-point Goudy Stout. One could seek his Decrees -- "Are you here to seek the Wisdom of, His Lowness, The Great Depression?" -- and it was his Collected Decrees that would triumph, eventually, in competitions with Other Revivals. The Great Depression was really a farmer named Tuffy. "Tried Legumes," he said, out back, behind the tent. "Tried Tubers, Ugly Fruits, and Assorted Goobers. Never thought of harvesting no Opinions, 'bout the only thing I could raise in this here Chafe." When asked if he'd pose for a few snapshots in his Getup, the farmer spat near his shoes, "Yep." Then his oilskin trousers ruptured after a suspicious clap. Think about what makes you Tick: We're all Ticking, you see. Don't hate if you ain't got no fence; don't fence if you ain't got no Chaff; don't Decree if you ain't prepped to risk some Cheeky Grimace.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Mankind is being flung towards the far horizon at speeds greater -- and heights taller -- than God ever intended. "Oh, Why, Oh, Why," wail the mourners, as another man flies past, overhead. If the synagogue is where you sin, then the dialogue is where you dial. "Help Me!" in one tongue is "Tongue!" in another langue and "Merengue!" in yet another harangue. Lemon gets to be a risk. Grape-fruits get to be a risk. The fields molder and a cry spreads through the land. Oh Lord, why is there motor? There is motor, sayeth The Lord, to impress thine enemy. But mine enemy hath motor. Sayeth not hath, sayeth The Lord, for that is my very verb form. Very well then, but my enmity 'hath' motor. Thine enmity hath motor? shrieketh The Lord, thou dost bringeth the disnomer and the piss-nomer in thy protestations and for that -- I shall now smite thy fleeting moment of achievement in sport. And The Lord smote the pilgrim's second place finish, and the pilgrim, in turn, smote his younger brother, with a loud clap to both ears, and the younger brother, then suffering from a disturbance, smote the television set with a thirty-ought-six, even as the set continued to speak, " . . . in corporation we trust . . . ," a minor miracle.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The bus driver, once again, flips the pedestrian "the bird." So, the pedestrian rides the bus, figuring: "He can't give me the bird any more, because I'm riding the bus." Then, the bus driver slams on the brakes, and the pedestrian -- "Oooh!" she says -- falls out the door. She's a pedestrian again, and the bus driver is always the bus driver, he's always been the bus driver. He gives her the bird. She takes the new route home, but there's always a bus, and in that bus, under the little lamp, there's usually a bus driver, who flips her the bird. "Is it in their job descriptions," she thinks, "to flip me the bird?" She buys a can of black spraypaint, but doesn't really know what she's doing. She shakes it, rattling those little balls in the can, and sprays a terrible doodle on the wall, the wall of the newspaper building, the newspaper that always tells you what you think they're gonna tell you. She yells at her boyfriend, that night, and he says, "yeah yeah yeah." The next day, she yells at a colleague, too, over an ambiguous break room encounter. The colleague has a tattoo, just above the sock-line, that reads, "Beers beers beers." She thinks "yeah yeah yeah", she thinks "beers beers beers." She would invoke the loud legend of her God, but he's at the track, playing the ponies, or he's at the track, wearing a fedora, with his stinky armpit stains. She steps into the evening, just as the bus drifts down the street. "NOT IN SERVICE," it goes, on its forehead, passing her without incident, but leaving her, clap, clop, to walk the city, in Autumn chill.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The pilot has turned off the No Antisemitism Sign and you are now free to stagger about the aircraft, all red-faced and whatnot. Intercontinental or plain old incontinent, it hardly matters these days. Maybe if we had a rapper named Warmio the earth would cool, instead. I'd even settle for Lukewarmio, if the earth would enter a period of Glacial Mediocrity, as a result. If your possessions -- dig it -- are not in perfectly great shape, then the U.S. Mint Police will be paying you a visit. They have a new para-military commando unit known as the Mint Condition Police, the funds for which were diverted from The Legislation to Nowhere and The Finest Types of People to Nowhere and The Sensible Slacks to Nowhere. No, you cannot spell that "commandoe" with an "e" but you can be a Veep who fades away like an old soldier, in these, the Incorporated States of America, Limited. To whit, the athlete could spell neither "buttocks" nor "manicure" though his future would -- uncannily! -- involve both. The French, O, the French. They have added Serum to their fromages, and as a result, have pioneered Treu Cheese. "Eat and Confess" is their motto; it's a perfect snack before visiting the Precinct, like, forever. There is no more cracker for your whiz and there is no more succulent for your concubi. The lyrics do not go "Bananas: Endless / Endless: Bananas." Yes they do.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

All right, People, the housing market ain't so bad that domiciles are cheaper than clothing. Before you start dressing in building materials, consider the fact that the snake will bite you just for looking like an idiot. "I wouldn't of [sic] bit that guy, had he not gone as a chimney. Chimney makes me feel MEAN." Thus sayeth the serpent. Was it Caesar who said "Venom, Vidi, Vici?" Or was it that dude, Seizure, instead, Julius Seizure? Either way -- consider the Message. Were you not Ridiculous, you would be unscathed. The minute you made yourself Ridiculous -- and let's talk about that minute, yes? Some say that Ridiculous is genetic but I say, You were not born Ridiculous. One minute fine, the next minute you've got the serpent coiling around your ankles. And for what, a bite of commonplace fish from a commonplace tributary? The bear -- we should note -- catches the fish without a rod and reel, without leggings, in fact, without clothing of any kind, and you're not going within one mile of that bear, am I right, Danger?

Saturday, July 18, 2009

George Stephanopoulos with purple two pound weights versus Yahweh with double helix in lavatory. Coming soon: "Senior Advisor Xbox 360 -- Second Term." Got joystick? Then you, too, can manipulate little avatar Stephanopoulos as he jettisons himself from the administration. "I ditch this appointment, Mr. Prez, that made possible my career, in order to mutilate your legacy." George Stephanopoulos with mobile device versus heckler with obscene gesture in specialty doughnut shoppe. Work them little two pound weights, up Wisconsin, down Wisconsin, one of the President's men. Little avatar Stephanopoulos reports from the poof of talcum mishap. Little avatar reports from the gastropod. "Senior Advisor Xbox 360 -- Second Term" comes complete with Scratch 'n' Sniff ethnic aromas and ceremonial beanie. Yahweh with double helix versus heckler with obscene gesture in lavatory of specialty doughnut shoppe. George Stephanopoulos in patriotic cape and tights, with giant blue "A" on his chest. He sings: "ACUMEN!" Faster than a speeding filibuster (!) -- More powerful than a poontang scandal (!) -- Able to leap constitutional crises in a single resignation (!) -- "ACUMEN!"

Friday, July 3, 2009

Tonight, on Extreme Weapons Amnesty -- "The potato gun discharges into the sergeant's left buttock, leaving forty-nine potatoes in the magazine." Tonight, on Extreme Throwing Crap -- "A green apple is thrown into a YMCA snack bar by a 15 year-old boy, causing the manager, a high school hall monitor, to squirt ketchup all over his beard." Tonight, on Extreme Third Nipple -- "A fringe religious leader explains that the sabbath cannot begin until the third nipple has been revealed." Tonight, on Extreme Army Trapped on an Isthmus -- "The Vikings slay some and levy higher taxes on others." Tonight, on Extreme Weapons Amnesty: Michigan -- "A pickup truck arrives at the checkpoint with a gatling gun and numchucks." Tonight, on Extreme Pregnant Pause -- "A newlywed couple discovers a flaming bowel movement on the front stoop of their historic duplex." Tonight, on Extreme Are You Jewish? -- "The season finale; a winner is declared; the pawnshop business is awarded; Laren Bacall is remembered." Tonight, on Extreme Quincy Reruns: "Fujiyama jumps out of a closet; Quincy solves the case; Lauren Bacall is remembered." Tonight, on Extreme Probing -- "George Stephanopoulos discusses Xbox 'George Stephanopoulos' game."

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The reputation of Vlad the Impaler, the famous Wallachian philanthropist, had gotten just so, he didn't need to Impale any longer -- well, now and again, heh heh heh -- since his proximity effectively Enpaled his victims. They would blanche. They would whiten. They removed themselves to The Pale of Settlement. Contests ensued and some were pronounced Pale by Comparison. What else can one do in The Pale of Settlement, afterall, but drink Pale Ale and beget Pale Stool, all the doings of Vlad the Enpaler. Vlad, which is short for Vladislaus, which, in Wallachian, translates to He Who Fondles of Vlasic Dillweed & Cole Slaus, then turned toward cheeseboarding as a means of extracting a confession. He once cheeseboarded a Dom DeLuise-looking Homey for three days -- the man, placed on a wooden board, had cheese rubbed all over his face -- until the Dom DeLuise-looking Homey confessed. Subsequent attempts to Cheeseburger a confession only triumphed in the Americas. Those, in the States, who caught a glimpse of Vladislaus, bought Impalas. Beige ones. It was undercover Americans, though, dressed as Syrians, yo, who applied SPF in his presence. He only caught on, did Vlad, when they ordered Fetish salads, hold the onions, with Wild Ass Toosh, when real Syrians would order Fettoosh, with onions, hold the Ass. "I tried to become a kinder Impaler," wrote Vladislaus, in his memoir, My Tippus, "but for the Americans, I would've ceased Impaling altogether, and now, I shall Impale afresh."

Friday, June 12, 2009

He who spends too much time focused on Tentacle is a sucker, Gran'daddy always used to say. More and more Tentacle washing ashore each morning, though, cause of Al Gore. Tent plus pinnacle = the nipple of the octopus. A man squeezes a woman's nipple, a woman squeezes a man's nipple, only amongst primates. Go ahead, but if you pinch octopus nipple you will be in world of suction. Don't forget to catch Antique Tentacle Roadshow and play that game "Disappointed" / "Not Disappointed" when Tentacle is evaluated by Postmodern Paddle Wackers. Some folks think they have antique Tentacle and are disappointed when the appraisal is low whereas some people think they have modest Tentacle when it turns out they have very valuable Tentacle, and are elated, to say the least. The same Tentacle -- chopped high and chopped low -- has sat in the Thai Knot sushi prep area for years, rotated, every so often, by a sushi chef in a white mushroom cap. That's how Tentacle matures. Unless it's bottled and Put Up. I wouldn't turn down a bottle of Tentacle 12 Year Single Brine, but that's me. A tired octopus is a Spentacle whereas a gladiator cephalopod is a Spartacus. The Mongols, when they ran out of Tentacle, would catapault their own slain comrades -- especially those festering with the bubonic death -- into the citadels of their enemies. "Incoming Tentacle!" the sentries would shout, at first, until they saw a dead Mongol fly into their camp. "Incoming!" they would shout, instead, or "Mongol!" until it became commonplace, all those Besiegers flying through the air, and the sentries quit shouting, quit their posts, quit the citadels, but failed to notify their adversaries, who kept launching their mates in broad arcs.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Do you have a lot of dust in your apartment? Because what dust is -- it's human skin. So what you really have is lots of human skin in your apartment. "I have just eaten an exhibition of paintings," said the Bohemian glutton, artfully. Get it? There is no such thing as "art" anyhow. Claiming otherwise is just an Insanity Pretense. The goslings resemble rabbits and the mimic thrasher nips the crow in the pooper. Why do you have so much human skin in your apartment? When I say "apart/ment" I do not imply that you suffer from irreparable separation. "C'mon, let's get this procedure over with," the sick man said, impatiently. Get it? There is a fine line between Rapture and Rupture, although the latter can follow from an experience with the former. Nobody hails from that venerable American town, Vaudeville, anymore, our presidents no longer seek wise counsel from yonder, and nobody, in recent memory, has been caught holding the mute's leg, a tragedy.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

If someone takes your Vitals, make sure to get them back. There is a highly profitable Black Market for Vital Signs these days. A good pulse can be traded for ethnic and ethical fish, alike, whereas a good blood pressure can be sold for Upward Mobility. Don't let them take your Vittles, either. He who is convicted of Appetizer Theft is a Convictual, and those who get pinched more than once, come to be known as Habitual Convictuals. Therefore, if they take your calamari, they're taking your squid, if they sell your calamari, they're getting Quid on your squid, proving, thereby, that "British slang" is, at best, redundant. If, therefore, Herman Melville first conceived of a peglegged captain who chased a giant tentacled beast, but realized he wouldn't earn enough Quid on his squid, he then conceived of a peglegged captain, Mobility Dick, who beat the odds simply by stumping around the Poopdeck. The title of Melville's nautical novel pingponged for years between "Poop Dick" "Dick Poop" "Dick" "Deck" "Dick Deck" and "Deck Poop" before a European Music Star inspired the header as we know it, Moby Dick, a techno-loving Private Eye who scours the sea for a bigoted whale. Beware Applause. No, no, no, should you stand too close to Applause, the bang of the palm against palm, you, too, could catch The Clap. Beware Applause. Signs of The Clap include spontaneous Applause, Applause not-called-for, belligerent applause, plausible applesauce cravings, and Pause. There are, in fact, the Seven Horsemen of the Clap, you can always tell the approach of their steeds by the clopclap, clopclap of their shoes. At that point, there will be little left to do but laud and applaud, for the Madness will be, like, Tentacles in the Tabernacle.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Say "Drugs" to "No" and "Narcotics" to "Nah" and "Dope" to "Nope." What time you got? The time is Now. We cannot, as a Society, separate. We cannot separate (the) State from Salt, (the) Lick from Bone, (the) Dry from Park, (the) Avenue from Light, (the) House from God, and so forth. Can you batch?, we know you can botch, can you butcher, as in slaw?, can you dozen the alternatives?, can you batch? Can you bundle?, we know you can bandy, can you bindle, as in slaw?, can you dozen the alternatives?, can you clump? What time you got at Five past Five? To empower the Trick Question please press "1" on your Rotary Phone. Beware, though. The empowered Trick Question may ask you, trick you, task you, ask. An empowered Trick Question, par example, once interrogated an entire office full of Fraud Investigators, investors, gators, and Frauds, with some slippery Freudian trickery: What time you got at Five past Five? Can you knot?, we know you can knit, can you gnat, as in slaw?, can you dozen the alternatives, can you batch? Say "Dope" to "Nope" if you can separate, and if you can separate, please press "1" on your rotary phone.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

You cannot call a dead bee a bee. You may call a dead bee a "was" because it certainly doesn't be anything, anymore, aside from a chitinous skeptic. Similarly, a deposed strongman may have a roof over his head but no Despot to piss in, or does that refer to the triumphant Putsch-man, instead? Coups come in all forms, though in one sense, the song of the dove is, therefore, a contradiction. "Coup Coup," sayeth the dove, who otherwise queued for peace. If it were not queue, but skew, then professional standers-in-wait would be Skewers, whether they stilted the curve, or not. Sewers are a sore spot for so-so sowers, go-go goers who gore the gawkers. In the Gawkery. Patron asked Server in Foreign Restaurant for Curry Favor but Server informed Patron that Curry Favor was now Felony. "In these times" or Thereabouts. Which is shorthand for Fisticuffs all around. Which is shorthand for Clenched in Shirtsleeves, light on the Starch Your Own Habits Tat. That which waffled in an apiary could be termed a Bee That As It May, its flanks a Bee Hind, its hive a hairdo, its humanity a-torso, Coup Coup Ka Chew. Putsch your Funny where your Mouth is, Putsch me and I'll Putsch you back, Jack!

Saturday, April 25, 2009

In some corners of the world, Sorrel Soup is the Soup of Choice, and can be known as Sh'chav, and in other corners of the world, the Shah of Iran is the Shah of Choice, and can be an authority on Sorrel Soup, in which case, he is often referred to as the Sh'chav of Iran. Some folks fashion garments from greenery, Sorrel Suits, and other folks fancy clothing that expresses their remorse, Sorry Suits, and still others, yet, favor technology, downloadable Ironies known as Sarcasts. Irony as in solid-like, by the way, as in Pressed-through-Steamburst, or Hamlet-upon-Riverway. Not to be confused with one's Cronies, so-called because they Crow in Tongues and Proximities, Needs and Knees. Crow Knees. Chews One or Choose Many can be the difference between Mastication and Mass Migration. The way Simulacra can be Sancta but Sanka will Sink Ya. Read all about it or Rehab your Doubt, the two represent Equal Opportunity if not Cheeks and Balances. While Plato's sophomoric history, Sophist, may have predicted Sweet 'n' Sour Tarts 'n' Turks, it was Nietzsche's The Twilight of the Idols that foresaw Modern Nipple Violations. Or, if you will, and you won't, a Go Go Girl with a Swelled Head might be termed an Ego Girl, you Go Girl, four saw and twenty scores ego. I mean, that's Conceit, even if it's not Concession, that's Receipt, even if it's not Recession, it's a pour worse than Session, it sure ain't Renaissance. Dear Noodle Ring, Dear Pringlebrain, Dear Executives Masquerading as Sympathy Mannequins, Sequence & Sequins as Fiscal Policy. Imagine a Doll, a Doll is Simulacrum for Not Breathing, a Dull is Luxury, whereas a Doll is Us and a Dull is You, Dear Pringlebrain. Adultrated our Dollars, you have, in Breathing and in Breathless. From Stones and Weeds Shall Soup Be Made.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Note how Excuse Me has become Skew Me has become Scume. At the Big Box Retailer at the Jetpack Pavillion at the Nature Hike. In this ailing economy, Endowments are down and Extenze won't help. But Big Boxes are prospering, to the point where people can't help but Scume. There are Two Worlds, I guess, One Love, and No Enhancement. The Stairs Is Gross, in the first world. The Stairs Is Gross in the other world, too. "Scumez Moi." There is a sale on Lip Balm, Lip Blam, Cans of Whoop, and Over Easy. No, she does not have five Sweet Potato T-Shirts, she has worn her Sweet Potato T-Shirt five times, you Nooty Nooget. No matter how old you are, the time has come for your parents to have the ol' Artificial Blueberry Talk with you. Tiblet, Gimlet, Giblet, Fib, is how it starts. Riblet, Ribbit, Chick Lit, Tib, is how it starts. By the time the Artificial Blueberry Talk has come to a Natural State of Rest, many people Skew Me, and nobody Skew Say Moi, even as the Mottoes & Chants, led by Salesmen and Salsa Men, go A = Always, B = Be, C = Clobbering, Always Be Clobbering, A, B, C.

Friday, April 10, 2009

The slaves cried out for some suntan lotion / While Pharoah smoked Shisha in the Land of Goshen / "Tut tut," said Tut, to the Masses / "I will sic my Armies on your Homeys / No gassy passy No safety glasses No rigatoni No Slammy Yamma" / When along came Moses with his tricked out Staff / He cast it down, Sudden Snake, and it began to Rap: / "You will see, Tut Tut, some medieval Plagues / You will stammer, But But, by the end of the day / There will be a Frog, a Gnat, a Slug, a Rat, a Cat from Prague with a Baseball Bat / If you deny the slaves their S.P.F. -- then you will be visited by the Angel of DEF!" / BREAK DOWN! / And the Jews did the Robot before they fled / And the Jews ate unleavened bread / And the Jews did the Robot before they fled / And the Jews ate unleavened bread / Then for Twenty Score and Twenty More / God dropped Bagels from the sky / Then for Twenty Score and Twenty More / A Rock 'n' Roll Salmon came swimming by / Lox, Bwoyyyeee / Smoky Fish / And the halls of The Academy quietened / Shhh / The Seder was afoot //

Friday, April 3, 2009

If you graduate high school and need something to do, you can always join the Arms Race, and if you come out the Arms Race, and need something to do, you can always join the Rabid, I mean Rabbit, I mean Hare, I mean Hurry Curry, I mean Hairy Krishnas, and if you graduate them, and need something to do, you can always join the Intellectual Property Krishnas, those bold, bold Esquires battling for Your Intellect, Oh Yeah, you can beat the Drums in the Park, you can bash the Tambourine beside Statue of Thoughtful Felon at Dusk, this ain't no Post Bop Economy, it's called Opportunity, Ltd., that's right, you may Apply yourself to a Task, to a Mattress, to an Opening, Ltd., but the only jobs are in Forwarding, and Forwarding, my Friends, requires Membership in the Tribe, Oh, don't fret, there are all kinds of Tribes, from Roto Rooter to Harris Teeter, from Deuteronomy to P-h-a-t Economy, there are No Shortages of Tribes, Vibes, and Jive, the Question, really, is one of Membership, does it involve Vindaloo, I'll tell you what it involves, there will be no more People to introduce People, in a Charles Mingus Presents Charles Mingus kind of way, it'll be You Presents You, China Presents China, Opportunity, Ltd., Presents the Human Being as Gross Revenue, we can only Hope.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Suction, if left alone, could destroy the universe, one stickfigure booty at a time. I offer the equation Dial "S" for "Suction" but Suction, of course, has been misunderstood over the Ages, 18 to 24, and 51 to 69, in particular. Most other Groups understand Suction just fine, or so sayeth Psychotherapies. You may wish to "Muse" in that you may wish to Inspire some young Sap, but don't Muse if you plan on Mewing, in the plural. It would be impossible, thereby, to distinguish your Muse from your Mews. Your Pause from your Paws. I will now describe My Own Theory of Relativity. I am related to You inasmuch as You have some Money for Me. Otherwise, you must apply for Relativity with the notion in mind that -- relating to you should leave me an additional half hour every day. Either Way, by Either Pike, we reach the aforementioned destination. "Your wallet please" may be a Robbery or it may be a clumsy attempt to speculate on the satisfaction of your billfold. "Ahem" may be a Throatclear whereas "Ahem ahem" may be a Warning that you have a Problem with your Garment. It may be Suction that is Amiss, and if so, check out that Video -- Suction Gone Wild -- via latenight infomercial. Suction will, nevertheless, determine a good bit Today, in your life, and in mine, we will require Redundancy, nails to secure nails, theory to secure theory, people to secure people, and so forth: It's getting to be That Kind of World.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

If French scientists can change a hen into a rooster then why can't American scientists change the economy into an economy? It'd be risky. We could, afterall, wind up with a fowl worth negative $3,000,000,000,000, and counting. History is full of transformations. Swords have been beaten into Ploughshares, a Chechen Bird o' Prey has decloaked over the Kremlin, and Water has been turned into Wine, down in the Land of Canaan, at the House of Babel. There isn't just water, there is water on top of water, some water needs to be on top and some water needs to be on the bottom, there isn't just water, water is very sexy. It used to be one could wave a Cheeseburger and a Marijuana Cigarette at just about any problem, and the problem would go away. These days, and when I say "these days", I mean, yes, I, too, throw fistfulls of I Owe Youze into the air, it might have to be a VeggieBurger, and the Marijuana couldn't be Marijuana, it'd have to be Medicinal. Judaism, by the way, can now be purchased in the bulkfoods aisle at Fresh Fields. You can find it next to the dried mango, and for the same price, $10.99 per pound, although it's on sale this week, or just mark down the code for "Student Mix" and you can get Judaism for $3.49 per pound. Judaism and Student Mix -- apparently -- are like twins separated at birth, the cashiers and baggers, alike, cannot tell them apart. O, whadda we have to do, These Days, and when I say These Days, I mean, yes, I, too, muck my aces for no defensible reason, whadda we have to do? Well, we must be Vigilant, for one, we must light candles and let the curtains flutter in the spritely spring kissing wind. After all, one minute we might be laying an egg, and the next minute, we might be crowing -- for broke -- at the bright horizon.

Friday, February 20, 2009

We are not crash test dummies, Teacher! We will wield the box of FILMSTRIP that got soggy when the roof flooded and the fat guy dropped through the ceiling onto chemistry. He did NOT smoke weed. Nobody smokes weed (pfff) but they need to. The way that nobody watches FILMSTRIP, Teacher!, but they need to. Have I told you about DAVE? Well, Billie Jean is not his lover. But my mom is! I’d rather call him sweetervest. We had a bat in the attic, a bat, with wings. Teacher! Leave them kids alone! We will wield the box of FILMSTRIP because FILMSTRIP has education in it and the students will watch up the education when they regard FILMSTRIP, Teacher!, leave them kids alone. May your iMac go pancreatic and your intercom go fritz and may the a/v aides be "goofing off with the dirtbags in the breezeway" rather than preparing for taco with fruit cup or acting MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

The Weigh Sayers amongst us accuse the brewery of brewing the sneeze into the beer, that they drank, before the fits came in threes. They watch Extreme Weapons Amnesty: Michigan, on TV, and laugh when the potato gun discharges into the Sergeant's left buttock. They no longer Break Glass in Case of Emergency, but phone The Samoan instead. The Samoan doesn't mind being called The Samoan, because it establishes him as the authority, amongst Samoans, even though he's not Samoan, he's ethnic Jewish-Albanian. He's prompt, effective, and demands Apple Hookah after the emergency has been resolved. The Weigh Sayers do not like to discuss the time they offered The Samoan an Apricot -- not Apricot Hookah -- but an Apricot -- in place of Apple Hookah. It is not wise to substitute an Apricot for Apple Hookah. Ever. In any scenario. The Weigh Sayers descried an attempt to derail the freight train, and seeing as it had no purpose other than insanity itself, termed it the loco motive. The Weigh Sayers amongst us visit The Looks Dept. at the Supermarche to purchase some Deep Smoldering Glances, you know, Looks. They think "Roofies" are those who worship and follow The Roof and "Reefer" is that which recommends itself to consumption On The Briny, atop the coral. You wear your socks too tight, O, Weigh Sayers, the Salt of the Systole and the Disaspora of the Diastole, O, the breezy May-hem of the heart, Weigh Sayers, you wear your socks too tight.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Freddie Hubbard knew: "Coltrane wasn't playing so far out then," said the trumpeter, of the 1961 Africa/Brass sessions, as reported by Ashley Kahn in THE HOUSE THAT TRANE BUILT: The Story of Impulse Records. "But he had so much energy, man, because him and Eric [Dolphy] used to drink honey out of the jar. They would eat those sunflower seeds and raisins. They were on an energy kick. I said, 'Man, you're going to get diabetes or something, man! You drinking raw honey?" [Pause.] I mean, that's right. We shall, therefore, rest our theories. There shall be no more theories. Our big-bottomed poets will quiet and quiet, too, will the poets of small bottoms be. Let (X) = "Greensleeves". Let "Greensleeves" = Horn in Sky. The honeybee leaves a pollen print in the history of Jazz on impulse! Praise Song for the Trane; Praise Trane.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

The floundering economy has necessitated cutbacks that, already, have taken the dignity away from Great American Traditions such as Skeleton Return. Pretty soon we'll see Skeleton Reform, and after that, you'll just see despondent Bags o' Bone sitting in the park, drinking they Deuce Deuce, steam rising off their skulls in brassy, reedy fog. In any event, Skeletons are at their boniest since the Great Depression, when New Deal Skeletons were more calcified than a nice big cuppa Dustbowl. Postmodern Skeletons, on the other hand, Extrapolate, in that, they practice corporeal punishment with their little ones. They conflate and intertextualize. If they rebate, then they masturbate twice. One can bait his breath, if he means to trick his respirations. The Skeleton, however, means to trick his expirations. To whit, the Skeleton can achieve separation, should he become disconnected from his expiration, but that's a ghost story -- the Skeleton bouncing down dark alleyways, with his expiration in pursuit. Sometimes, a Special Officer, i.e., one who can demonstrate either a pulse or an I.Q., is called in, to corral said Skeleton, kick him around, and reunite him, all so vividly, with his expiration. We are Structure, and we are Weakening. If we scream "Jackass!", do we mean another, or are we identifying ourselves? We are Language and we are Debt. In that, we lease our Skeletons from the Landlord, the Earth, its doors to the right, its closets, its walkup duplex with berber carpeting and a riverview.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

The difference between "lion" and "loin" can be a lousy diph-thong, an underwear-thin vowel sequence. Too, the lion covers itself with a cheesecloth whereas the loin stalks us au naturel. When the loin is not tender, the loin is always tender, the loin is not legal. You cannot pay your rent with loin, you cannot post an envelope, you cannot purchase the dealie. Someone else, however, will purchase the dualie, someone else always purchases the dualie, which can be the dealie, as well, only not with loin, he will not purchase the dualie with loin. 'Fused? Then prefer the porkchop, the establishment does not serve the porkchop, nobody can remember the porkchop, prefer the porkchop. Would you quit forking around? You know how much I hate it, when you fork around. We can spoon, we cannot knife, we cannot attempt all the cutlery positions, we can bowl. Tell me something that's not so "Obvi" -- and by that, I mean not so "kicked in the knickers". I used to consult the Ethnic Market, the Ethnic Market had those funky roots, the Ethnic Market lost some composure, thereby developing needs of the Ethic Market, which tumbled again, today, on reports of selfish, shellfish, two times a lady. A man named Marmalade will never become president-elect, he could be secretary of buttery spreads, ("Obvi!"), in that, he could preside over the nation's manses, menses, minces, and muensters. Lettuce mints whirreds for the grater good, i.e., Implement.

APPEARANCES WITH HETERODYNE IMPROVISATIONAL MUSIC PROJECT

I have appeared several times (as “Words”) with the Heterodyne improvisational music project, which is led by Maria Shesiuk and Ted Zook. Other performers have included Sarah Hughes, Leah Gage, Doug Kallmeyer, Bob Boilen, Sam Lohman, Amanda Huron, and Patrick Whitehead. Here are three free sample recordings, each about 30 minutes long, available on Soundcloud: